


Thirty-three - all the old familiar faces

by mellyflori



Series: here we are millionaires [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after the postcard arrives there's an email from her.  Aramis reads it and gives a little happy laugh and calls out, “Porthos!”  When Porthos pokes his head in from the hall Aramis’ grin is spread across his face.  “There’s a conference in Paris next month. My girl is coming!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little return visit to the boys, with special guest star. 
> 
> (It's finished, but being broken into chapters just for length. Chapters will go up on successive nights (or the morning after, depending on how knackered I am)

There’s a postcard in April, on the anniversary of N’djamena.  Fatima sends one every year.  The first time one arrived, Aramis just put his head in his hands and shook for a while.  It had been a shit day anyway; he couldn’t get out of his mind the image of that wall falling down. To know that somewhere in the world she was thinking of him, holding his heart the best way she could, had been one of the things that made the day bearable. 

 

It’s been five years and he’s better now, but there’s still a hand on his back and Porthos’ voice in his ear saying that they’ll get through this day the same way they do everything: together.  Aramis, Porthos, and Fatima’s postcard.

A week after the postcard arrives there's an email from her.  Aramis reads it and gives a little happy laugh and calls out, “Porthos!”  When Porthos pokes his head in from the hall Aramis’ grin is spread across his face.  “There’s a conference in Paris next month. My girl is coming!" 

There is nothing Porthos enjoys quite the same way he enjoys watching Aramis be giddy in love.  Whether it’s with art or food or friends or lovers, the way his tone changes and his whole presence grows brighter gives Porthos so much joy.

“That’s fantastic! You told her she was welcome here, yeah?" 

“I haven’t said anything yet; I just got the message. Can I tell her that?" 

Porthos laughs. “Of course, yeah.  Might not work best for her but she should know she’s got a home here if she wants it. 

Aramis makes the offer.  Her dates aren’t even solid yet, but he wants her to know how welcome she is, how much he’s looking forward to seeing her.   When her schedule is firmed up, she calls him to iron out the details. 

“I’ll have meetings Monday through Thursday and probably dinner a couple of those nights but I would love to stay with you.  Actually, I’d love to come on Friday and have the weekend if that works for you.” 

“It very much works!” and while he wants to say something lewd about making the most of their time, there’s something hanging in the air between them. “Fatima, I—,” he starts. 

“Aramis, stop. Let’s not borrow trouble for ourselves. I love you, I always will. Get to the airport and we’ll see if the rest is still there. We’ll figure it out then, and we’ll talk to your Porthos.”  There’s a pause and when she speaks again her voice is so much lower.  “I’ve missed you, Aramis." 

Aramis can feel his belly twist because _fuck_ he’s missed her, too.  They call and email regularly, but it’s not the same as feeling that wild cloud of hair under his hand and her head on his chest while they talk about everything and nothing.  “Just say when, I’ll come pick you up."

 

He laughs at Aramis cleaning everything in the flat, but it’s Porthos who buys new sheets for the guest bed, creamy and soft and with a sinfully high thread-count, and makes sure there are matching towels in the bathroom.  Porthos knows that no matter how excited he is, Aramis is more than a little worried about how Porthos and Fatima will get along.  He needn’t worry. 

Fatima’s plane is due in at a quarter to ten on Friday morning and Aramis has arranged for the day off, so he can spend it with her.  The night before, wrapped around each other in their enormous bed, Aramis says, “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the airport with me?” He kisses the scar just over Porthos’ right shoulder blade. 

Porthos takes Aramis’ hand from where it’s wrapped around his waist and brings it to his lips.  He kisses one fingertip after another with a pleased little hum. “Nope.  I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, this is a special moment and you two should have it to yourselves. Besides, I promised Athos I’d do a refresher course on one-handed takedowns.  He thinks a few of the new guys need some polishing.”  Porthos rubs one of Aramis’ fingertips against his lips, just feeling the skin against skin. “I’ll do that, stop and get some things for dinner, and be back here in the afternoon." 

He can feel Aramis’ breath against his back, Aramis’ fierce sucking kiss against the nape of his neck.  “Have I mentioned lately how much adore you?  That you are the love of my life?” Aramis says and Porthos laughs, curling Aramis hand against his own chest and thinking again how fucking lucky they are. 

Porthos’ voice is fuzzy with sleep. "'S been hours, I could hear it again.” 

“I wake up every day wondering how I can deserve you. I see your smile and it seems like everything that’s ever happened in my life makes sense because it’s brought me here, with you.” 

If Aramis says something else, something about the nobility of Porthos’ face and the magnificence of his ass, Porthos doesn’t hear it; he’s fast asleep.

 

If asked, Aramis would probably deny that he spends any time picking out the right clothes to wear to the airport, but he’d be lying.  She hasn’t seen him in so long, hasn’t seen him with this hair, with his beard, in any clothes but his uniform.  Aramis would love to be above this kind of behavior, but she can still make his heart race and he finds himself picking out his cleanest white shirt, his nicest jeans, spending a little extra time on his hair.  It’s raining when he goes to leave so he snags his new chocolate brown trench coat on the way out the door. 

Fatima, when she comes through the security checkpoint doors, is even more beautiful than he’d remembered.  They’ve talked a few times over Skype, but no matter how good the signal it could never properly show how luminous her skin is, how bright her eyes.  Her hair is piled on her head in a haphazard bun and Aramis goes weak in the knees a bit when he realizes that breathtaking smile is meant for him alone. 

“Well _hello_ , look at you. How is it possible you've gotten better looking?” she asks and then laughs.  “Are you _blushing_?”

Aramis doesn’t say a word, he just bundles her to him, buries his nose in her hair behind her ear and soaks in the fact that she’s here, in his arms, and she is incredible. She’s been on a plane for eight hours, crammed cheek by jowl with hundreds of strangers, but she smells amazing. 

“I missed you,” he says, his lips at the join of her shoulder and neck. “I missed you so much." 

She’s on her toes, her arms around his neck and her fingers in his hair just above his nape. “I missed you, too.”   Fatima takes his head in her hands and kisses him firmly on the mouth, her lips smooth and sweet under his. “And that’s all you’re getting until you get me somewhere where I can change out of these clothes and get a nap, I barely slept.” 

Aramis smiles against her kiss.  “As the lady commands."

 

The drive back to the flat is mostly quiet, they are still soaking up the sheer presence of each other.  The only thing of any note is that as soon as they’re out of the tangle around the airport she slips her hand over his where it rests on the steering wheel.  It’s a perfect echo of the first time she touched him like this, of that ride out to Abéché in the hot, dry African air, and Aramis feels himself shudder all over at the intimacy of it.  Whatever else may have changed in the years since he walked down that hall in her building and turned to wave goodbye, the strength of him wanting her hasn’t diminished at all.

Just before they get back to the flat, she catches sight of the trees along the road and the park beyond.  “Is that your park?  Yours and Porthos’? It’s so beautiful." 

Aramis squeezes her hand.  “Wait." 

She’s nearly as stunned by the view as Porthos and Aramis had been when they’d first visited the flat. “Look at it all down there, you can see so much.  Oh, Aramis.”  She turns to look at him, her eyes bright.  “Do you two stand here of an evening and just look out over it, just marvel at it and your lives?” 

If it were anyone else asking Aramis might not admit to such rank sentimentality, but she knows him too well and she will know the admission for the perfect thing it is.  “Every time we get a chance." 

Fatima walks over to where he’s standing and runs her hand up the back of his neck, carding her fingers through his hair. “I am so happy for you, my Aramis. So incredibly happy.”  She kisses him again, then.  It’s not soft, not sweet, it’s the kiss of a woman who has missed her lover for long years and suddenly finds him in front of her again.  She’s relearning his mouth.  Aramis wraps his arms around her, his hands splaying wide against her back and dragging her toward him. 

She presses her chest up into his, sighing softly into the kiss before saying, “I’m going to go take a shower now, and then there will be more of those.”  He tells her where the bathroom is, says he’ll get her bags to the guest room, and grins as she swats his ass on her way to the shower.

“Fatima?” he calls after her just as she’s walking through the bathroom door. When she turns back to him he says, “I love you." 

She leans against the doorframe, her smile so soft, “Oh Aramis, and I love you." 

While she’s showering, Aramis feels his phone vibrate.  It’s a text from Porthos asking if she’d gotten in safe.  In reply, Aramis sends back a picture of her suitcase on the chest at the base of the guest bed.  Porthos sends back a smile and says he’ll be home after three.

The door to the bathroom opens and Fatima comes out in a cloud of sweet-smelling steam looking like her world has been set to rights again.  “I’m not sure what ecologically unsound things Porthos had to do for you to get water pressure like that, but I’m so very grateful to him.”   She’s in a white tank top and soft flannel pajama bottoms.  Her feet are bare, and Aramis can see her bright blue toenail polish peeking out from under the hems of her pants.  Raising her arms to let her hair out of the towel drags her breasts against the fabric of her top and Aramis can see the outline of a barbell in each nipple. 

His mouth goes dry and he swallows before he says, “Are those new?" 

She flashes that amazing smile at him. “They are, at least since you saw me last, but before you get excited, I really need a nap.  It didn’t hit me how tired I was until I got under that hot water, and all my muscles loosened up.”  She tilts her head a little and her smile softens.  “Will you lay down with me for a while?"

Aramis reaches out and takes her by the hand, leading her to the guest room, stripping to his boxers and crawling into bed beside her. She’s on her side, a towel draped over the pillow and her hair piled on top of her head.  It’s left the back of her neck bare, and when Aramis spoons up behind her he can’t resist pressing a kiss there.  She sighs and wriggles back into the curve of his body, tugging his arm around her and kissing his knuckles. 

She’s asleep before he is, the trip having caught up with her finally, and Aramis takes the quiet time to remember the feel of her against him.  There are a few more pounds on her hips, her skin is softer and her hair is longer, but the delicious warmth of her body is still the same.  She still fits perfectly along the length of him and rests the soles of her feet on the tops of his. 

Aramis can feel the adrenaline, the tension of waiting for her and worrying about if that physical connection would still be there, draining out of him.  As the worry leaves he finds himself growing tired, the warmth of her body pulling him toward sleep.  He sighs against her neck, kisses her shoulder, and closes his eyes.

 

When Aramis wakes again, it’s to the feeling of someone’s mouth against him.  Fatima has turned in his arms and is laying little kisses along the seam of his lips and over each cheek.   He hums in pleasure and returns the kisses. Neither of them needs words, they let their kisses speak for them.  Each kiss gets deeper, slicker and dirtier. Aramis slips his hands under her tank top, shucking it up over first her ribcage then her breasts, tugging it up and over her head.  He flings it against the far wall and wraps his arms around her back, pulling her close and feeling all that perfect, warm skin against his own. 

There’s a pinprick of hardness on either side of his chest where her piercings are pressing against him and he remembers wanting to explore those. Before he can bend his head to kiss her collarbone, Fatima takes his head in her hands.  “Aramis, one second.”  Once his eyes are on hers she asks, “Do we need to wait until we can talk to Porthos?" 

“No,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her nose. “We talked about it already. While he would appreciate a full report, strictly for entertainment purposes, anything we want to do has his blessing.”  He kisses her mouth again, feeling it open under his and her tongue lick into his mouth. 

“Wants a full report, does he?  Should we make it especially good so that you’ll have plenty to tell him?”  she asks and Aramis’ hips jerk against hers completely unbidden. “Mmm,” she hums against his neck. “Or perhaps we should save the particularly interesting things for when he can observe in person, do you think?" 

Aramis’ harsh “Fuck!” is nearly a shout.

Fatima’s fingernails are dragging down his back, her teeth scraping lightly over his collarbone. “Oh, Aramis, such thoughts in your head.  So selfless to want to give your beautiful man something lovely to watch.  But, how selfless can you be?”  she asks and scratches lightly across his belly with her nails. 

Aramis hisses and arches into the touch. “I can be anything you want,” he says and with any other lover he would immediately regret giving them a blank check like that, but this is Fatima. She holds his heart so gently, and she respects Porthos, and there is nothing Aramis would not give her. 

“My Aramis,”  her hand snakes down inside his boxers and wraps around his cock.  She isn’t stroking, not yet, just feeling him throb in her grip. “We wouldn’t want him to feel left out, would we?  Would you let him come join us?”  Aramis’ cock jerks in her hand and she smiles at him. 

His hands start desperately pushing at the waist of her pajama pants.  “Off.  Off off off. Please.” He used to be better at this with her, he used to be able to play and tease, but the idea of having both of those gorgeous bodies in bed with him has taken all his composure.

While Fatima is stripping off her pajama bottoms and tugging Aramis’ boxers down, he’s twisted himself around to reach the drawer in the bedside table.  His amazing, perfect Porthos has left condoms and lube and Aramis loves him fiercely at that moment; Aramis grabs both. There hasn’t been time, he doesn’t think, for her to be wet enough to go without lube, but he can’t bear to wait.  He needs to be inside her and if the way she’s rubbing herself against him is any indication, she feels the same.

Aramis tucks the lube between his knees letting his skin warm it even if it’s only a little while he rolls the condom on.  Once it snaps into place, he slicks his fingers up, letting the lube warm against his hand.   Fatima tilts her head up to him, and Aramis bends to kiss her, feeling her gasp into his mouth when he slides his slick fingers over her clit and drags them through her cunt.

She arches against him when he slides one, then two inside her, rolling her hips into his hand and moaning. “Now, Aramis. Now.”  His girl seems to be as short on patience as Aramis is.  For this time, the first time in so long, he wants to be covering her, to be able to look down at her riot of hair spread over the pillow. 

Fatima’s knees fall open and her hands reach for him and as Aramis leans down into her embrace he feels his cock snug against her opening, pressing but not pushing.  She hitches her hips up against him, fucking him into her.  “Did I pique your interest, Aramis?  Are you so close to the edge now because you’re thinking of both of us there with you?” 

Fuck, she’s right; he could come now if he let himself.  His face twists as he drags himself back from the edge, but when she sees it relax she smiles up at him, and Aramis knows that look, she’s up to something.  Sliding one hand between their bodies she circles her fingers over herself.  She’s pressing at the pad of flesh over her pubic bone with the heel of her hand and slicking her fingers down her clit while she stares up at him. 

“I’m close, too. Do you know what has me so close, Aramis? It’s not both of us here with you.  I’m this fucking hot, this fucking close, because I’m thinking about you sitting in that chair, right there, and watching the two of us without you." 

Aramis’ hips buck forward and he’s inside her, sliding into her and thanking god for the lube.  She’s so tight and so hot and the image of her laid out on this bed with Porthos has Aramis whispering, “Stop. Stop,” until she’s quiet and he can get some control back. When he starts to move again, when he’s sliding out and back into her, she smiles at him. 

“Would you ask us to do things for you, do you think?  Or would you let us lose ourselves while you tell us how perfect we look?”  She’s stroking faster now, her cunt starting to tighten around him, and thank fuck because he’s so close he’s not sure he can hold back this time. 

“So perfect,” he says, fucking into her.  “You’re always so perfect, both of you. Please,” he says and neither one of them knows what he’s asking for.  Neither of them truly cares. 

“Aramis!” she calls out, high and needy.  He looks down at her gorgeous smile and kisses her, biting at her lower lip and trying to make up for years of missed kisses all at once. 

The sting of his teeth in her lip is what she needs and he can feel her clenching around him, hissing into his mouth as she comes.  Somehow he holds off, going still while she tightens and releases over and over. 

When she’s still under him, loose-limbed and smiling, he fucks himself into her just a few more times, whispering to her how beautiful she is, how perfect, how much he’s missed her.  He comes with a cry, her hands stroking gently over his back and her hips cradling his. “I love you,” she whispers into his hair as he curls over her. 

It isn’t until he’s tying off the condom and putting it into the trash bin that he checks the clock.  It’s just after one, Porthos won’t be home for a couple of hours yet.  “Come here,” Fatima says, holding her arms out. Aramis slides into bed next to her and wraps his arms around her.  He rests his head on her shoulder, smiling as she presses a kiss to the top of his head.  Her fingers stroke through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, and Aramis barely notices his eyes closing before he’s asleep again. 

 

The buzz of Aramis’ phone wakes them an hour later.  Aramis reads Porthos’ message saying he’s on his way home, to text if they think of anything they need him to grab, that he loves Aramis.  Smiling, Aramis feels lucky all over again.  Ducking his head, he kisses Fatima on her forehead, brushing his lips across her skin and smelling her hair.  “I love you so much,” he whispers.

She groans and stretches, her back arching in a gorgeous curve and her legs stretching straight out.  Aramis watches her balled fists reaching out for the wall and can’t help but smile. “Time is it?” she grumbles. 

“It’s just after three.  Porthos will be home in about twenty minutes and I thought you might like to not be naked when he gets here.”  His grin is positively lewd. 

“Who knows, I might want to just to give him that show,” she says, rolling onto her belly and looking at him from over her shoulder.  Fatima is watching as Aramis’ eyes go wide, pupils dilating just for a second.  “Oh, Aramis, if only it weren’t so fun to get you riled like this, you might have gotten that lovely, sentimental reunion sex I know you secretly wanted.” 

Aramis most assuredly does not blush. He’s missed this about her so much, not just her smile or her smell or the physical presence of her, but the way her face lights up when her mind engages.  Fatima’s intellect working is one of the most magnetic things Aramis has ever seen. “That really was just dirty pool on your part. You knew the idea of the two most beautiful people I know wrapped around each other would be more than I could resist." 

“You’re a man of simple pleasures, Aramis.”  She kisses him, quick and firm, and goes to dress.  Aramis is watching her, her long legs sliding into the jeans and her nimble, clever fingers fastening her bra and wonders how it’s so sexy to watch her put her clothes  _on._

 

Aramis is nervous.  It’s ridiculous, of course. He remembers Porthos and Fatima talking to each other all those years ago, how after he’d fallen asleep their conversation had gone long into the night.  They liked each other then; there is no reason they won’t like each other now. Still, he won’t fully relax until he sees them together.  Aramis just loves them both so much, the idea that one wouldn’t like the other sits like a stone in his belly. 

They’re sitting on the couch together when they hear Porthos’ key in the lock.  Aramis jumps a little and he can feel Fatima’s small, strong hand on his arm, calming him.  “Aramis, I promise you, even if this all went to hell we’d both still love you.”  He rests his forehead against hers and kisses her softly. 

Porthos calls, “Honey, I’m home!” as he sets the carrier bags on the floor just inside the door and walks into the living room. 

“And I’m glad to see you, dear,” Aramis says, laughing. 

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Porthos says, and his eyes are dancing. He turns to Fatima and his smile gets even bigger.  Aramis is watching as both dimples carve through Porthos’ cheeks and his arms spread wide.  “Hey you,” he says.  “Been dying for a hug." 

Fatima doesn’t bother walking around like a civilized person, she climbs straight over the back of the sofa, landing safely in Porthos’ hug.  “Oh, it’s good to see you.”

“How was your flight?” Porthos asks.  “Did this one let you get a shower and some rest or did he latch on and not let go until he made you see stars like I said he would?" 

Both of them are completely ignoring Aramis' pole-axed expression.  “He was a perfect gentleman,”  Fatima says, kissing Porthos on the cheek. “He put me straight into the shower and then we both took a nap.  I’m afraid the latching on that happened after that nap was entirely my fault." 

For the first time since he’d put his arms around Fatima, Porthos turns to look at Aramis. “He doesn’t look like he’s broken-hearted over it.”  Porthos’ smile is wicked and bright. 

“No,” Aramis says, drawing the word out.  “He looks like he might have missed something.” 

Porthos lowers Fatima to her feet and bends to kiss Aramis, sweet and soft and a little sloppy.  “You knew I had her email, you just thought I’d only use it for emergencies.  Aramis, we’re in touch at least a couple of times a month." 

Fatima runs her hands over Aramis’ shoulders, bending to kiss his cheek. “It helps, sometimes, to have someone else who loves you that I can reach out to.  When I talk to him, I know someone is giving you all the love you deserve, and he knows that he can talk about you to someone who also appreciates you." 

Porthos grins. “It’s nice to be able to complain about how many times you leave wet towels on the bed to someone who understands why I can’t ever be really mad about it. And now you can stop fretting that we’re not going to like each other." 

Aramis tries to protest that he wasn’t worried, but he gives up in the face of Porthos’ disbelieving eyebrow. Some part of him should be upset, should be irritated that neither of them thought to tell him.  If he were a jealous man he would see this as ‘sneaking around’ or ‘behind his back’, but he’s Aramis, and these are the loves of his life and they adore each other.  He doesn’t feel jealous, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

Rising from the sofa, Aramis goes to Porthos, wrapping his lover in his arms and kissing him until they are both breathless with it. “I will love you all my life,” he says.  "Even though I know you planned this so you could see my face when I found out, and as such you are both clearly terrible wretches." 

Porthos rubs his nose against Aramis’, beaming at him. “Good thing you can’t resist me then, eh?”  He reaches down to palm Aramis’ ass and gets a surprised but happy grunt in reply. 

“My darlings, as lovely as it is to watch you both be besotted, I had some peanut butter crackers and something resembling oatmeal at seven this morning and nothing since.  I’m _starving_.” 

“I think we can feed you,” Porthos says to Fatima.  “Help me get the groceries into the kitchen.”   It’s early yet, and dinner will take a bit of time to prepare so Porthos puts out some cheese, some crusty bread, and the last of the season’s really fine raspberries.  Fatima falls on them like she hasn’t seen food for weeks, pausing only long enough to graciously accept the glass of wine Porthos hands her.  Her smile is dazzling, and Porthos turns to Aramis only to see Aramis staring at Fatima.  His expression says the sun has risen behind her eyes, and he is basking in its warmth. 

When Fatima pops the last raspberry in her mouth and sighs, a happy grin on her face, she settles onto the stool at the counter and for the next two hours they talk like they’ve been friends for decades and never apart.  While Porthos chops bright, sweet grape tomatoes and fresh basil, Fatima talks about the conference she’s attending and the talks and panels she’ll be participating in.  She talks about the personalities involved and all the nicknames she’s given them that she’d never tell anyone else. 

Aramis watches Porthos roast red peppers under the broiler and chop them and asks about his day.  Tales of Athos’ poker face in the presence of Louis’ idiocy keep company with the rhythmic chop of the knife through shallots and the scrape against the cutting board as he slides them into the saute pan. 

Porthos adds the tomatoes, basil, and peppers to the shallots and puts a lid on the pan.  All the while he talks about his plans for his shift at the youth center the next afternoon, how he’s letting the kids pick things they want to learn about.  “I can’t know what’s important to them,” he says. “Only they can.  But I can help them learn about whatever it is.”  Fatima meets Aramis’ eyes and gives him an enormous grin.  Yes, their eyes say to each other, he is perfect. 

It isn’t until Porthos brings out the large marble pestle and starts to flatten cuts of beef that Aramis realizes what’s on the menu for the night.  “Porthos?  Are you making _milanesas_?” 

Porthos looks up to see Aramis’ face and cocks his head with a little “Hmm?” noise. 

“You’re making my mother’s _milanesa_ _s_ , aren’t you?”  Aramis is not, _is not_ going to cry. 

“I might be.  I might have asked her for a few more recipes we could try at home. I might have promised her a picture of your face when you tried mine, and also said that they’d never be as good as hers.” 

Aramis uses the lower rung of the stool he’s on to stand up and stretch across the counter top.  He grabs the front of Porthos’ shirt in one hand and pulls him forward for a fierce, smacking kiss. 

 

Porthos lets Fatima flatten some of the beef, claiming it’s a perfect catharsis at the end of a long day and by the end of her third steak she’s grinning from ear to ear.  She helps him dip them in bread crumbs and cook them in the cast iron skillet and Aramis watches how beautifully they move together.  Dinner is, to no one’s surprise, fucking amazing.  They pair the beef with the chunky tomato sauce and some melted cheese and Aramis opens the bottle of wine they’ve been saving for a special occasion. The three of them are pleasantly loose and the conversation never stops.

The only pauses in the evening come when Fatima notices Aramis’ face glazing over.  His eyes are wide and his breath a little shallow and it takes a sharp nudge from her toe to bring him back to the moment.  Each time he gives her a questioning look and then a sheepish grin in response to her arched eyebrow.  Aramis is eternally grateful that Porthos seems to miss it every time. 

Aramis and Fatima send Porthos off to get out of his work clothes while they clear the table and do the dishes. “I’m not sure how,” she says, “but somehow you made it through the entire dinner without him once asking why you were staring at his mouth and breathing strangely." 

His hands are under water and she can’t see them as they clench with the effort not to let his mind wander again.  “What?" 

“Oh, Aramis.”  Fatima rests her hip against the counter and dries the plates as he hands them to her.  “You spent that entire meal picturing it, didn’t you?”  She leans in to say right into his ear, “Picturing us in that lovely big guest bed?”  Aramis drops the plate he’s holding back into the sink and the water splashes up and hits his face. 

Fatima laughs and Aramis stops trying to pretend.  He shrugs and says, “You certainly can’t blame me, it’s a compelling image." 

“It is,” she says, drying the last of the plates.  “Aramis?”  Her voice is soft and a little careful. “Would you like it to not be an image?  Or at least not just an image?" 

Aramis' mouth goes dry at the idea. He stops washing and turns to her, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his jeans. “As much as I love your adorable crafty grin, I want to make sure I am clear on this.  What are you suggesting?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She kisses him, so thankful that he’s the kind of man who knows when to play and when to be serious. “I am saying that if you would like, and if he would like, then perhaps we could have an evening together. The three of us.” He is still staring at her so she goes on. “Naked. Possibly sweaty. In various configurations. We might want to stretch first. Aramis, say something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is pretty much no plot in this chapter. It's just a chance to get these gorgeous people naked and sweaty.

She kisses him, so thankful that he’s the kind of man who knows when to play and when to be serious. “I am saying that if you would like, and if he would like, then perhaps we could have an evening together. The three of us.” He is still staring at her so she goes on. “Naked. Possibly sweaty. In various configurations. We might want to stretch first. Aramis, say something."

“Yes,” is all he says. “Yes, I want that. If he wants that. But…"

As if she can hear the words already, Fatima says, “He is my friend and I love him as one, but you are the only person in this flat I am in love with. And that will be true tomorrow morning as well, regardless of what happens tonight. That is not the kind of relationship Porthos and I have and it’s not one either one of us wants to have."

“I love you,” Aramis says and kisses her.

“I love you, too. Now please finish washing that pan so we can go talk to him,” she says. Aramis is grinning at her with all the enthusiasm of a child; he loves her ferociously. Not just for being the kind of woman willing to make this particular fantasy come true, but for being the kind of woman who has already thought about ways it could go wrong and how to avoid them.

 

When they’re seated on the sofa again, Porthos beside them in his favorite chair and coffee in their hands, Aramis says, “Porthos…” In the tiny pause after his name Porthos’ face falls.

“Dammit. I was so sure it was gonna be Fatima that brought it up. Ah well, live and learn. Yes, Aramis?"

Aramis can only smile. “Porthos, it’s no fun when you already know what’s coming."

“Every five minutes all through dinner you’d start staring at me and just get lost, I know that look and what it means, then this one,” Porthos points at Fatima, “would give you a swift kick and you’d snap out of it for another five or six minutes. Our job is to notice things when are out of the ordinary, Aramis. Did you think I missed you getting hornier all through dinner? Then I come out of the shower find the two of you bent over the sink whispering and giggling like teenagers before you come sit down in here like you’re about to try’n sell me a car I don’t want.”

Aramis is staring and Fatima is laughing and Porthos goes on, “I’ll tell you something, both of you. I want this car.” Porthos leans forward in his seat. “I want this car a lot."

Fatima crosses one leg over the other, her toenail polish sparkling in the overhead lights. “Do you have… expectations? Restrictions? Things we should know about before you… get the keys?” And oh, Aramis thinks, there’s my girl. He’s watching the by-play between Fatima and Porthos and falling more in love with them both by the second.

“That’s a very good question,” Porthos says. “I think just that I don’t expect you and me to come out of this feeling any differently about each other. I love you, you’re a friend, a great one, but—."

“But that’s all, yes. Neither one of us will come away from this in love with the other, and neither of us will be sad about it. That was my thought as well. Do you have preferences as concerns the, shall we say logistics?” When Porthos shakes his head, smiling as though it is all, every bit of it, good with him, she turns to Aramis. “You, my love?"

Aramis’ throat is dry, watching this has been erotic in a way he would not have expected perfectly tame negotiations to be. He swallows, and there’s a dry click. To Fatima, he says, “I believe earlier you mentioned…”

“Did you now?” Porthos says, smiling a question at Fatima.

“I may have mentioned that he might prefer to take in the experience as an enthusiastic spectator so that the images could be as vivid as possible."

Porthos sits forward in his chair, setting his coffee cup on the table in front of him and leaning so that his face is close to Fatima’s when he says, “What did he have to say to that?"

Fatima turns her face toward Porthos, her tongue licking out over her lower lip. “He was extremely enthusiastic."

He cups her chin, his thumb stroking over the line of her jaw and along her lower lip. “That does sound like Aramis,” he says and then he is kissing her.

Aramis is watching it from the other side of Fatima, watching as her eyes fall shut and the tension falls from her face. He can see their mouths meet, and the kiss is chaste, almost sweet, but Aramis is almost instantly hard. No one can do this to him, but the two of them and combined they are irresistible.

Porthos pulls back from the kiss, licks at his own lower lip, tasting her there. “After you,” he says.

Fatima stands, taking Aramis by the hand and leading him down the hall. Porthos flips the deadbolt on the door, turns off the kitchen light, and follows them.

 

Porthos stands in the doorway, arms folded and smiling, and watches Aramis and Fatima kiss. Aramis has his hands buried in the cloud of her hair, and he’s kissing her like he’s mapping her mouth. Her hands are buried under Aramis’ shirt at the small of his back; Porthos can see her fingers curling into Aramis’ skin. Fatima’s breath is coming short and fast, and she breaks the kiss long enough to skim Aramis’ shirt up and over his head. She tugs it back and down before he’s managed to get his arms loose and for a long second Aramis’ hands are pinned behind his head, trapped in the sleeves of his shirt. He kisses her with a whine in his throat, and Porthos can hear Fatima laughing.

She kisses Aramis’ collarbone, his neck, just above his heart. Aramis shakes his hands free of the fabric and tosses it across the room. He catches sight of Porthos in the doorway and reaches one arm out.

“Porthos,” he says and Porthos goes to him.

“Have I told you lately how fucking gorgeous you are?” Porthos asks just as Fatima catches a fold of skin between her teeth and Aramis hisses at the pinch.

“I want—,” Aramis says, and it seems like his words have deserted him.

“I know, my love,” Fatima says. “Stand right here, you should see this close-up, at least at first.”

Aramis stands, one hand on Porthos’ shoulder and the other on Fatima’s waist, and watches as Porthos bends to kiss her. He knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of Porthos’ kisses, knows how she must feel right now. Porthos cups her jaw as he did earlier, the other hand on her hip, and tilts her face up to him. Aramis is watching as Porthos’ tongue licks out and opens her lips; he can see as Porthos sweeps into her mouth and hear the sound Fatima makes as Porthos’ tongue strokes along her own.

He’s seen sunsets over the desert and the view of the earth from so high up he can see patterns in the land, but Aramis has never seen anything this stunning. It’s almost painful to watch; he can feel his face shape into a mask of want and lust. Watching these two together might just ruin him for life.

She sighs, long and low, and her hands come around to splay across Porthos’ back. Fatima pulls back for a second, licking at his lip, biting a bit, pressing fierce, close-mouthed kisses to his mouth before letting him take control again.

Porthos’ hand tightens on her hip, his other hand sliding back to cup her head as the kiss gets deeper. Fatima makes a tiny keening noise as she clings to him, arching her body against his and Aramis feels his hand give an involuntary clench against her waist.

Fatima fists her hands in Porthos t-shirt, pulling it up and off. It falls to the floor as Porthos is pulling the waist of her blouse from her jeans. It buttons down the front, and Porthos breaks the kiss to watch his own fingers work at the buttons as if he were opening the best present of Christmas morning. Aramis steps around behind her to take the blouse off her shoulders and pull it down and off her hands.

If it had just been the two of them, he would have stopped with it still around her wrists, tugged until her shoulders arched back, and her pupils went wide. Not this time, though. It would make her feel vulnerable and as much as she adores Porthos, the first time is not the right time for that. Aramis presses kisses to her shoulders, her neck, and reaches to undo the clasp of her bra.

This time it’s Porthos who pulls down and off, dropping the bundle of lace and satin into the overstuffed chair in the corner. Aramis is watching as Porthos catches sight of the piercings, the silver bars glinting in her nipples. Porthos’ smile is one he’ll never forget.

“Ooh, now that’ll be fun. Be sure’n tell me if there’s something I shouldn’t do,” he says, and Fatima grins.

“Just don’t flick them too hard without a nice warm-up, and you will be fine,” she says. “Now where were we?"

The two of them somehow get their jeans and underwear off without stopping to hold and stroke and stare at each other too much; Aramis has no idea how. He’s standing so close, and he can’t stop himself from touching. He’s circling the fingers of one hand over the small of Fatima’s back and resting the other one on the swell of Porthos’ ass and his brain isn’t sure where he should focus first. He loves them both so much at this moment. He loves them for giving him this, for being the kind of people they are, for loving him. This evening would have been perfect anyway, but now it will be perfect _with orgasms._

Aramis kisses Porthos’ shoulder, licking the skin that already tastes a little of sweat. He can smell Porthos’ hair, Fatima’s skin, it feels like they’re everywhere, and it’s so fucking good. Fatima takes Aramis by the chin, twisting his head to face her. “Remember what we talked about?” When he nods, she says, “In the chair, then.”

A corner of Porthos’ mouth quirks up. “Bossy."

Fatima reaches down and wraps one hand around Porthos’ cock, squeezing slightly. “Is that a complaint."

His grin broadens and he can’t help a hitching breath as he says, “Not even a little.”

Porthos has never been one to use his strength when it’s unwarranted, so when she puts her hands flat on his chest and pushes, he dutifully falls backward onto the bed with a grin. Fatima crawls across the bed until she is covering him, on her hands and knees, looking straight into Porthos’ face. Porthos’ hands come up to push her hair back from her face and kiss her again. After each of them has had another turn trying to keep her hair out of the kiss, Fatima motions for Aramis to hand her a hairband from her bag. She piles it on top of her head, and Aramis is entranced by the long line of her neck and the slope of her shoulders.

Sitting up under her, Porthos kisses her neck, her collarbone, the skin just above her right breast. Fatima lets out a happy hum and then pushes him back down. From where Aramis is sitting, sprawled out in the armchair and steadfastly ignoring his cock, it seems like they kiss for an hour. There are light, soft pecks and deep, filthy kisses. Porthos curls his fingers into the hair at the back of her head and tugs just enough to get access to the sensitive skin under her chin and at the column of her neck.

It seems like the kissing will go on forever when Aramis hears a dangerous chuckle from Porthos. “I can feel that, you know?” he says. Aramis can see it then, how her legs have splayed out to the side, how her hips are rocking just the slightest bit as she rubs her clit against the skin of his belly. Fatima doesn’t even try to look chagrined.

“Needs must. It’s what’s to hand, so to speak,” she says.

“I see,” Porthos says. “Let’s see what I have to hand.” Fatima has her eyes closed, grinning as she bites her lower lip, but Aramis is watching as Porthos’ big, broad hands come up to cover her breasts. Her moan is loud and filthy.

“Aramis?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Yes?” he says, one palm rubbing idly over his zipper.

“Can you see?"

“I can see everything."

Fatima laughs. “I guarantee you can’t see everything, because from over there you don’t have the right angle to see how my pussy is dragging against him. So that you’ll just have to imagine. Everything else though, yes? You should tell me what you can see. Tell me if it’s as good as you dreamed.”

Aramis’ hand clenches over his cock, and he groans. He might have been able to draw it out forever, to mostly ignore his own desire, if he’d only been watching. Having to tell her about it, to describe everything he sees and how it makes him feel is going to drag him right into it, and he feels like he may never recover.

“I can see his hands over you, you can feel how warm they always are, how they’re just a little rough where he holds his gun, but it only makes the pressure feel better."

“Mmm,” she says, “yes there’s that beautiful little scrape of his callouses."

Porthos drags his thumbs over her nipples, rubbing them just over the piercings and feeling the shape of the barbell under his skin. Fatima cries out at the touch, arching herself into it. He takes the balls of the bar between the index finger and thumb of each hand and pulls them out, stretching her nipples slightly, letting her feel the tension and release as he lets go. When Porthos starts to drag his thumbnail over the tips of her nipples, Fatima is whispering, “Yes, yes, yes,” as she digs her fingernails into the sides of his ribs.

“I love watching you when the feelings start to overwhelm you,” Aramis says. “Your face is so very beautiful.”

Fatima laughs and looks from him to Porthos. Clasping one of her hands over each of Porthos’ she holds them still while she looks into his eyes and says, “Oh, it takes more than that to overwhelm me."

“That so?” Porthos says. He knows a challenge when he sees it and its’ not as though he didn’t know how much she loves a good rough tumble. His hands slide from her breasts to her hips, and he brings one knee up, foot flat on the mattress. He scratches his fingernails over the swell of her ass just to watch her hiss in pleasure before he pushes up off the flat foot and flips Fatima onto her back, bracing himself above her.

She lets out a great, happy whoop as she flops onto the pillow, her laugh ringing out to the ceiling.

“Now,” Porthos says, “Aramis is gonna take off his jeans and boxers come over here and sit right up there by the headboard, and he’s going to hold your hands. He’s not holding you down, but I think you’re about to want to grip and pull on something, and I’m making sure it’s not my hair or my ears."

As Aramis settles onto the bed next to her, Fatima reaches up to take his hands in hers. “Is he as good as he thinks he is?” she asks.

Aramis’ grin curls and his voice drops as he says, “No. He’s so, so much better."

On his way down her body, Porthos stops to suck at her nipples, to lick broad stripes over them as he cups the sides of her breasts. When he takes the metal between his teeth and tugs, she cries out an “Ah!” and arches up off the bed. As her back comes down to rest against the sheets again, she tries to rock her pelvis up into his chest, trying to get friction against her hungry cunt.

“None of that,” Porthos says. “You’ll wait for it.” One hand is pinning her hip in place and she pushes against it, mewling when she meets so much resistance she can’t move at all. She stills under his touch and he watches her pupils go wide. “Good girl,” he says.

Porthos drags the nails of both hands down the sides of her body, from her arms to her hips, scratching over the sides of her breast and down her ribs. Her breathing turns to panting, and she’s twisting Aramis’ fingers in her grip. “Now!” she yells and Porthos takes a second to bite down on one nipple just hard enough to make her hiss.

Aramis is talking again, loud enough for them both to hear. “I can see his teeth on your skin, see it dimpling under his bite. He knows how good a little pain can feel, knows how it can heighten everything, and he’s right, isn’t he? I forgot how much you love this."

Looking up at Aramis from under his lashes, Porthos just grins.

“Oh, Fatima,” Aramis says. “I know that look, and I’m afraid you’re in trouble now. My Porthos is about to be merciless and you are going to love every second.” He lowers his voice until it’s for her ears only. “I can’t wait to hear the sounds you make for him. Will you make as much noise for him as you always did for me?"

Porthos presses a kiss to her belly, nipping at the skin there as his hands come down to hook under her knees. Aramis and Fatima are both watching as Porthos slides his wicked smile down her belly, pushing up on her legs until she’s spread wide for him. Her legs fall over his shoulders, and he looks straight into her eyes as he plants one, soft, almost innocent kiss at the top of her pussy.

She tries her best to give a bored sigh. “I’m hardly overwh— Fuck!” Porthos is sweeping his broad tongue down her cunt, dragging it over her clit and stopping at the bottom to suck the lips of her pussy into his mouth one at a time. Aramis is making soft cooing noises at her, holding her hands and letting her pull and tug at him as she tries to buck her hips up into Porthos’ mouth.

Porthos’ thumbs move to hold her open while he lays wet, tonguing kisses across her cunt, sweeping his tongue against her entrance and dragging his nose along her clit. One thumb slips down to press gently at her opening, not sliding in just letting all the nerves at the opening of her vagina feel the pressure. With the other fingers of his hand he’s stroking at the crease of her ass, dragging his middle finger down the cleft and stroking it over her asshole.

“He’s doing it, isn’t he?” Aramis asks. “He’s alternating pressure between your cunt and your ass. When he does that to me, with his thumb behind my balls and his fingers against my ass it’s everything I can do not to come. God, your face, my gorgeous girl. You’re not even seeing me anymore, are you? Just lost in your own world. So beautiful."

When she tries to answer, when she forces her eyes to focus and sucks in a deep breath, Porthos takes the opportunity to slip the pad of his thumb into her and press the flat of his tongue against her clit. He’s cheating, of course. On more than one occasion, he and Aramis have talked about her while they were fucking, talked about how much Aramis loved to please her, her smell, the things she liked. Porthos hadn’t meant to catalog them, just to get Aramis riled up, but they’re all coming back to him now and he’s not wasting the knowledge.

Fatima’s hips are twisting under his grip, struggling to get more of his thumb inside her while he licks and sucks softly at her clit, tracing up each side and back down again. Every move he’s making is not quite enough and it’s doing exactly as he intended. She’s growling in frustration, pulling at Aramis’ hands and digging her fingernails into his grip.

“Is he being cruel to you?” Aramis asks. “I know; I do. You’re probably so fucking wet for him right now, probably dripping down his hand and soaking the sheets. That pretty cunt of yours is probably so swollen and hot and you just want something inside you so fucking bad and he’s not giving it to you. He’s just fucking teasing you with not quite enough. He does that when he fingers me open for his cock, he makes it go on and on and it’s never quite enough. Porthos likes to watch us fall apart, likes to know he’s done that, likes to give us so much and not enough. I love him so much for it but oh, I hate him while he’s doing it."

Porthos slips his thumb free and she moans at the loss, squirming to try and get him back inside her. He twists his wrist, sliding two broad, blunt fingers into her cunt at once, and she’s so wet they slide almost all the way in. Fatima wails, back bowing off the bed and a string of curses coming out of her lush, kiss-bitten mouth.

Aramis’ voice is gentle, but his words are obscene. “Your chest has gone all flushed, my girl. Your nipples are so dark and tight and I know your pussy is the same. I can see the muscles of your belly twitching and I wonder how tight you are around his fingers. He has the most amazing fingers, doesn’t he? So good and tight around my cock, so thick as they’re sliding into you. He keeps smiling up at me and I can see him licking over your clit. Fuck, baby, nothing has ever looked as good as his tongue stroking your beautiful, slick pussy.”

Her arms are sweating and she’s gripping Aramis’ forearms, he can feel her hands slipping against his even as her fingernails dig for purchase. He can tell from the movement of Porthos’ shoulder that those fingers are fucking into her and Aramis knows that no matter how good this feels, his gorgeous love has a few more tricks up his sleeve.

As if Aramis’ thoughts have called it into existence, Porthos' left arm curls up and over her thigh, laying his palm flat and broad low on her belly. Porthos is pushing down from the outside and up from the inside and if he’s found just the right spot to drag his fingertips over there won’t be long before Fatima comes apart.

Eyes snapping back into focus, Fatima yells, “Oh, fuck, _fuck_! Aramis! Fuck, his fingers are…. Aramis!"

He’s cooing again, whispering to her how beautiful she is, how sweet she is and how her taste is probably flooding Porthos’ mouth right now. Her eyes slam shut and there are tears at the corners. “Porthos. Porthos!” She’s almost sobbing and the noises she makes when words fail her are primal and deep. Her legs are trembling just a little and Porthos is humming words of praise against her clit as she cries out.

When all she can do is beg, “Please, please, please,” Porthos’ face gets even more intense, his fingers moving just slightly faster. She’s not holding Aramis’ forearms anymore, just letting her arms lay slack on his hands.

“Do you know how beautiful you are when you come, my love? Do you know how it makes your face so bright and your chest heave and the most gorgeous sounds spill from your mouth? Do you know how your pussy tightens down and gets even hotter? I love that, I love feeling it and I love watching it and now we’re going to show Porthos, aren’t we? You’re going to let that take you apart piece by piece until you’re screaming for both of us.” He takes her hands in his again, twining their fingers together. “And just when you think you’re finished coming, I’m going to hold your hands like this while he slides his cock into you.”

The idea, the thought of Aramis’ hands in hers while Porthos fucks her is enough to send her over the edge. Her fingers twist against his and she really is sobbing now. Porthos groans, loving the taste of her spilling over his tongue and fingers. He can feel her slamming tight around him and he holds his tongue still, letting the clenching of her belly and the hitch of her hips move her against him. He slides his fingers out of her before she stills completely, knowing that she’ll be too sensitive for it later, and when her hips finally stop moving he presses another soft kiss to the same spot.

Meeting Aramis’ eyes, Porthos points to the nightstand. Aramis hands him a condom and watches Porthos’ gorgeous cock twitch as he rolls it on.

“Fuck, his cock is so beautiful. I’ve seen it countless times in my life, but I always forget just how beautiful it is until I see it again. He’s so thick, sweetheart, he’s going to feel so good. I’m watching him tuck himself against your pussy right now, I imagine that cock is pushing against you, so thick even though you just had those fingers inside you.” Fatima’s face goes loose as she sighs deeply. “He’s pushing in, isn’t he? My beloved is spreading you around his nice fat cock and god, baby, I can see him sliding into you. I can see how much is already in you and it must feel so fucking good. I love how he feels when he’s pushing into me for the first time and how it always seems to go on forever. Maybe I just want it to go on forever. You do too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “Fuck, yes. God, Aramis he’s so fucking big."

Porthos stops at the end of his first stroke, letting her get used to his size, letting her breathe. When her quick, shallow breaths turn to breathy sighs, he starts moving again. He’s fucking into her deep each time, pulling almost out and then all the way back in and Aramis can see the sweat standing out on Porthos’ shoulders and back. The muscles are bunching Porthos’ ass and thighs, his face slack with pleasure.

“It’s been so long,” Aramis says, “since he had a nice warm pussy around him. That look says he’s forgotten how good it feels, how snug and hot and how your muscles feel clenching around him. Every time you jerk your hips up like that it makes you go tight around him again and he fucking loves it. Don’t you, Porthos."

“Yeah, fuck,” Porthos says, struggling for words because god, she really is so fucking hot and slick around him. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. So hot around me. I’m watching your face, watching how much you like this. I can see those pretty nipples glinting every time your chest moves. Makes me want to take one in my mouth again, feel it against my tongue. Oh, fuck, fuck you feel so good, honey."

Fatima’s face is twisted in pleasure, her hips struggling rush Porthos’ thrusts. “Yes, it feels amazing, but if you don’t start moving faster I’m going to have to murder you.” At Porthos’ low chuckle, she starts swearing. “Fucking fuck, Porthos speed up! You’re fucking killing me. God, I need it!"

When his hips start snapping against her, she laughs out loud. “Yes! Fuck, yes, just like that. So good. You were right, Aramis. He’s so fucking big and it feels so good.” Fatima meets Porthos’ eyes, lets one of Aramis’ hands go so she can stroke his shoulder, grip it. “You’re amazing, so fucking amazing."

The liquid slap of their bodies against each other has Aramis’ cock straining against his belly. He loves watching her like this, loves holding her, but it’s killing him not to be able to take himself in hand and fuck his own fist in time to Porthos’ hips.

Fatima’s cries are getting sharper, faster, but there’s a frustrated note creeping in at the edges. “Aramis. Aramis!"

“My love?” he asks.

“I need… I need something. Aramis!” She clenches her eyes shut and groans. “Give me your fingers? Need your hand on me, Aramis."

Aramis slides his hand between their bodies, feeling Porthos’ hips hitting his fingers as he feels for her clit. It’s fat and throbbing under his touch and he finds the motion he knows she likes best, one finger on either side and his palm pressing against her mons. He doesn’t need to move or stroke, Porthos’ fucking is moving her against Aramis’ hand in the perfect rhythm.

“Fuck! Yes, god that’s perfect, Aramis. _Fuck_.” Her hands are digging into the pillows above her head, her back arching off the bed, and she’s sighing in time to Porthos’ movements, sometimes almost laughing with how good it feels.

Between the friction of the sheets against his cock while he was licking her and the heat of her cunt as he fucks her, it isn’t long before Porthos starts to jerk his hips messily against her, fucking out of rhythm. “Aramis, I…”

“It’s good, my love. Let go, I have her."

“You have me,” Fatima pants, looking up at Aramis with a wicked grin. “Right in the palm of your hand.” Aramis can’t help but laugh. That’s his girl, filthy and sweet and so fucking sexy.

As Porthos’ hips start to stutter, Aramis takes up a rhythm of his own, pressing down a little with the heel of his hand and making quick little circles, the sides of his fingers sliding the skin over and over that little bundle of nerves.

It’s the feeling of Aramis’ hand against him that finishes Porthos, the knowledge that this is something they’re doing together. Everything in the world narrows down to the three of them and all the ways they love each other. The way Porthos adores Fatima but isn’t in love with her. The way Aramis looks at Fatima as though she is the best present in the world. And over all of it the love that Porthos and Aramis have for each other, big enough to hold everything else.

With a hoarse “Fuck,” Porthos’ hips still and he can feel how tight Fatima is as he pulses inside her, coming with a shout. Near the end, he pushes into her one last time and then stills, letting Aramis’ hand keep circling, letting her get tighter and tighter around him. With the hand not bracing him above her, Porthos strokes his palm over her nipple, dragging his fingernail back down over it and swiping at it with his thumb. Between the movements of both of their hands, Fatima is coming again.

The orgasm is sharper but shallower, she can focus enough to talk. “Oh God, Aramis your hand is so good, I love feeling you stroke me. You’re making me come around him, Aramis. You’re making me come around Porthos’ cock, is that what you want?"

Aramis bends to kiss her above her ear. “Yes, beautiful girl, come on. I’ve dreamed about this but seeing it is so much better. I want to watch you come around his cock, want to see his face when you get nice and tight and watch your face when you feel how big he still is inside you.” He gets his wish.

She’s whimpering by the time it’s all over, bucking her hips up with little whines and Aramis will not, _will not_ bring that up later. There’s a sad little sigh from her as Porthos slides out of her and a wistful frown on Porthos’ face. He kneels up, stripping the condom off and tying it shut. Aramis takes it and drops it in the trash and then goes to kiss Porthos. They’re both kneeling, facing each other, Aramis’ cock snug in the hollow of Porthos’ hip.

“That good for you, babe? You like seeing us like that? Like hearing how good it was?"

Aramis is pressing kisses everywhere he can reach, his cock rocking against Porthos’ skin, fucking against him. “You’re both so beautiful, so good watching you like that. Fuck, Porthos."

“I know. I know. You didn’t even know where to look, did you? Did you want to watch her pretty nipples get tight or did you want to watch my fingers sliding into her? Couldn’t decide if you wanted to see my tongue buried in that cunt more than you wanted to see me fuck her, could you?"

Aramis’ voice is a keening sigh as he ruts his hips against Porthos once more, twice, and then he’s coming against Porthos’ belly, splashing over his skin and biting down into his shoulder. “Love you,” he says, licking over the bite mark after his orgasm has passed. Porthos has an arm around him, holding him up as he sags. He kisses Aramis, soft and deep until Aramis can kneel up straight on his own again.

With a quick, affectionate kiss, Porthos says, “Since we did all the work it’s your job to go get a washcloth. Get a couple, actually."

Aramis grins and kisses him back. “Watching is very hard work, but I’ll do it because I love you.” Fatima’s toe nudges at the cheek of his ass. “Both of you,” Aramis laughs, climbing off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

Porthos collapses onto the bed beside Fatima. “That was fun,” he says, kissing her nose as they hear the bathroom sink cut on.

She kisses his mouth, sweet and quick. “It was. We should do it again sometime.”

His eyebrows go up. “Oh yeah?"

Fatima rolls onto her side to face him, one finger tracing the scar over his heart. “Mmm. In fact, while he’s gone, I have an idea."

Porthos throws his head back and laughs. When Aramis comes back with two warm washcloths, the mess across his own belly already clean, they’re both suspiciously silent. He hands one washcloth to Porthos and strokes the other one gently over Fatima, being careful with her more sensitive places. “I love you both,” he says, taking Porthos’ washcloth and tossing them both to the floor in the corner. He misses the way Porthos rolls his eyes at Fatima and she tries not to laugh. “I love you both very much, and right now we’re going to sleep, but tomorrow you’re going to tell me what you cooked up while I was in the bathroom, because I don’t trust that look on either of you.”

Porthos slides down under the covers, one arm slung over Fatima’s waist and his nose against her shoulder. “Best you don’t question it, love,” he says.

Fatima tugs Aramis down on her other side, his face close enough to hers that he can kiss her and his arm crossing over Porthos’. She takes his chin in her hand and kisses him with all the love she feels shining in her bright eyes. “Best you just enjoy it, Aramis."

Before he can bring himself to protest, they’re all asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What will we do today?” Fatima asks.
> 
> “We’d like to take you to the park. It’s a beautiful day and I… I’d like you to see it."
> 
> She smiles, cupping his face in her palm. “In that case I should go put some clothes on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been so much fun, getting to go back and visit them again. Thanks for coming along on the journey with me and hopefully we'll see them again before too long.

  
Saturday morning they wake in a warm, tangled pile, and Porthos extricates himself first so he can put the coffee on. Aramis noses at the hinge of Fatima’s jaw, kissing her sleep-warm skin. “I love you,” he says.

“I would love you more if you would stop talking and let me sleep,” she says and he can’t help but grin. Aramis dozes for another hour or so before brushing his teeth and joining Porthos in the kitchen. He slides his arms around Porthos from behind, kissing the nape of his neck.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Love of my life,” Aramis says as Porthos rubs his hand over Aramis’ forearms.

“I forgot how threesomes make you extra sweet. Might pencil a few more in if it gets me this.” Aramis puts his mouth around Porthos’ shoulder and bites gently. They take their coffee over to the window and watch the park come to life in front of them. “Gonna be a nice day, think we should have lunch there today?” Porthos asks.

“I’d like that, if you’re okay sharing that with her. I know it’s special to us.” He’s unsure; just when they think they have the mechanics of this all worked out another situation comes up.

Porthos puts his arms around Aramis, tilting his head up and kissing him so deep that Aramis can taste the extra sugar Porthos puts in his coffee. “It’ll still be special to us. Telling her all the stories of the places there will only make it more special to us, because now we can share it with someone who loves you, too."

Aramis drags his nose up the side of Porthos’ neck, bumping it against the underside of his jaw and then ducking back down to kiss a bare spot on his neck. His beard is running over Porthos’ shoulder and Porthos is humming at the sweet scrape of it on his skin. “Stop trying to start something just so your girl will walk in on it."

“Too late,” Fatima says from the doorway of the living room. “Luckily for Porthos I am entirely unmoved by that kind of filth before there is coffee.” She’s wearing the shirt Porthos came to bed in last night and a pair of Aramis’ boxers and she’s fucking stunning. Aramis just stares at her as she walks into the kitchen to find an empty mug waiting next to the pot.

“Go shower,” Porthos says to Aramis. “You missed some spots with the washcloth last night.” Aramis kisses him one last time and goes to clean off the last of yesterday’s fun.

When he comes back out, Porthos and Fatima are leaning on opposite sides of the worktop and laughing. Aramis stands there with his hands holding the towel around his waist and listens to the two of them, so happy in each others’ company. They’ll never be in love with each other, that’s not the relationship they have. At the same time, neither of them begrudges the others’ role in his life and that only makes Aramis fall more in love with them both.

“Do I want to know?” he asks.

Porthos turns a devastating grin on him and then his eyes flick to the towel hanging around Aramis’ hips. He jerks his head in Aramis’ direction. “Like that one,” he says to Fatima, just as she’s taking another drink. Her laugh echoes around in her coffee mug and a little splashes up onto her nose.

While she’s wiping it off she smiles at Aramis. “We were comparing notes about things that should make us love you less but don’t. Porthos says his big one is that you leave wet towels on the bed.”

Aramis rolls his eyes, this is clearly not a new complaint. “Wouldn’t be so bad if he left them on his side,” Porthos says. “But no, on my pillow nearly every time.”

“You,” Aramis points at Porthos. “Go get in the shower yourself and stop chatting up my girlfriend. And you,” he turns to point at Fatima. “Let him go get cleaned up and stop beguiling him by sympathizing with him about my worst qualities.” Porthos puts both hands up in surrender and heads for the shower, still laughing, and Aramis figures this is a safe time to go throw on some clothes.

He comes back into the kitchen to find Fatima digging some fresh fruit out of the refrigerator and they sit together at the table and pick through it with their fingers. Fatima eats all the melon, Aramis eats all the grapes.

“I like that I can talk to him about you,” Fatima says. “I miss you terribly sometimes, but no one I know now has ever met you. When I talk to Porthos, it feels less like you are just a phantom memory."

“He adores you, it’s easy to see.” Aramis’ face goes distant and contemplative. “I could study him like a scholar and never understand all the wonders of his heart. That’s just how Porthos’ love works, he makes a special place just for you and after that you are family."

“Not close family, I hope,” Fatima flashes a lewd smirk around a chunk of honeydew.

Aramis’ laugh is loud and bright. “No, then he would have to treat you like he treats my mother, and you would have missed out on a fantastic night."

She grins like she can’t not. “How does he treat your mother?"

“Someday,” Aramis says with a smile so soft it hurts Fatima just to look at it, “I will tell you the story of Porthos and my mother. She has always called him ‘my boy’ and that phone you were talking to him on that first night? She and my father got that for him, more so he could call them than so he could call me."

“And now she sends him recipes to make for you?"

“Mm,” Aramis is grinning. “She also says we are not excused from giving her grandchildren, but I’m afraid she’s going to have to be satisfied with a succession of spoiled cats or something."

“What will we do today?” Fatima asks.

“We’d like to take you to the park. It’s a beautiful day and I… I’d like you to see it."

She smiles, cupping his face in her palm. “In that case I should go put some clothes on."

When they’re all dressed and clean, they go to the market for more fruit and cheese, with a separate trip for bread and meat. They return to the flat only for wine and glasses and a big, soft quilt for them to sit on. The spot they pick is on the hill between the waterfall and the path to the temple. The sound of the water mixes with the sound of the other people out for a gorgeous spring day together.

Porthos tells Fatima about their tree, about how it felt to kiss Aramis that first night. Aramis talks about walking through the part the day they found the flat. Together they talk about the history of the park, where the gallows (and later the gibbet) had been, and how such a dark and terrible place had been willed into existence through determination and pure stubbornness.

Eventually, Fatima falls asleep with her straw hat over her face and the sun warm on her bare arms. Aramis knows the first few days after she goes will be hard, but he’s smiling now, determined not to miss her before she’s gone. He twines his fingers in with Porthos’ as they lay on the blanket together. For all the years that have gone by since that first kiss under a tree in this park, the love, the passion has only grown stronger. There will never be enough time for all the kisses these two men want to share, but they make a good run at it that afternoon.

When Fatima wakes, she reads to them from her book, a tale of a girl who has lost her heart and a boy who serves chickens to Napoleon. It isn’t until the shadows are long on the grass and a chill is starting to creep into the air that they pack up to go back to the flat.

“How often do you do this?” she asks them as they walk.

“All the time,” Aramis says. “Sometimes it’s just a quick few minutes on a bench in the winter, but sometimes we have days like today.”

“No reason to waste good weather being indoors,” Porthos says. “Least not until we’ve got a good reason to go back in.” His leer is positively pornographic.

Fatima laughs and holds the door to the building open for them so they can go through with the bags of uneaten food. Dinner that night is leftover _milanesas_ served on crusty sandwich rolls with ham and melted cheese. They eat on the balcony. There isn’t really enough room, in reality they’re eating in the living room, sitting on the floor with the balcony door open, but it makes the evening seem like just a continuation of their lovely drowsy afternoon.

Aramis sighs happily as he finishes the last bite of his sandwich and lays back on the polished wood floor with his hands behind his head. Fatima puts her food down and lays down next to him. She’s propped up on her elbow and one hand is on his chest as she kisses him. Porthos leans in from the other side to kiss him as soon as Fatima is finished. Aramis’ little humming noise is pleased and preening.

“You do like to be in the middle, don’t you?” Fatima asks.

“For you two? Of course.” His voice is incredulous because really, who wouldn’t want to be in between these gorgeous creatures.

“Good,” Porthos purrs in his ear. “‘Cause that’s right where you’re gonna stay tonight."

He has, Aramis suddenly realizes, been masterfully played.

Aramis’ laugh is absolutely without artifice, he’s not trying to be coy or flirty. It’s a great, loud, helpless laugh. “The two of you together are a truly dangerous combination."

“So good of you to notice,” Fatima says. Aramis hums a little and rolls to kiss her. He can feel Porthos coming to rest along the length of his back, his mouth on Aramis’ neck.

“Now, it’s my guess that you’ve both been planning this for at least a day, is it safe to assume you didn’t plan for it to happen on the living room floor?” Aramis asks.

“Nah,” Porthos murmurs into his ear, nipping at the lobe. “Murder on my knees. Probably yours too. Up, let’s move this to the bed.” There’s a swift swat on Aramis’ ass and he yelps into the kiss he’s sharing with Fatima.

Each of them could tell you of a time they were so caught up in the moment that they didn’t bother getting up off the floor or the stairs or any number of other less-than-optimal spots. Each of them could also tell you that moving to the bed or sofa takes less than fifteen seconds and nothing that happens in those fifteen seconds could make up for the back pain or rug burn the next day. Well… almost nothing.

Still, Porthos manages to make the trip to the guest bedroom an experience in itself. He stops just inside the hallway to pull Aramis against him, kissing him hard and deep and dirty. Waving his hand, he beckons Fatima closer. When she’s standing behind Aramis, he pulls Aramis’ hair to the side, exposing the curve of his neck to her. She smiles presses herself flush against Aramis’ back so she can lick and suck on his neck.

Aramis is focusing on the feel of Porthos’ mouth slanting over his own, licking at his lips and the stroke of their tongues against each other, the feeling of Fatima’s mouth on the tender skin of his neck is a complete surprise. He gasps into Porthos’ mouth and arches against him.

Fatima hooks her fingers in Aramis’ belt loops and pulls them backward down the hall, never stopping the scrape of her teeth down the tendons of Aramis’ neck. Aramis is shuffling along, knowing full well how awkward this must look and not caring. He’s moaning into Porthos’ kiss when they round the corner into the bedroom.

Porthos ends the kiss with a nearly-vicious drag of his teeth over Aramis’ lower lip. “Get naked. Now.” It is not a request.

Aramis can feel his body reacting to that tone, the hair on his arms standing on end as he rushes to strip off his clothes. When he finally tosses the last sock into the corner he sees that Fatima is already stretched out on the bed, Porthos above her with his forearms bracketing her head, and they are deep in a kiss. Their long, gorgeous dark bodies are stark against the sheets and Aramis’ mouth goes completely dry.

Fatima breaks the kiss and hums, wriggling against Porthos and smiling. She catches sight of Aramis at the foot of the bed, of his cock beginning to thicken at the sight of them, and she beckons him with her fingers. “Come down here, love. You are much too far away.”

Porthos rolls away from her, making a space between them for Aramis to slide into. They’re so warm, one on either side, with their bodies pressing against him. He’s content to just lie there, soaking up the warmth and the closeness, until he hears Porthos’ voice in his ear.

“I thought about not telling you what’s gonna happen. Thought maybe you’d like to be surprised. But I’m not gonna be able to see your face later, and I wanna be watching when you hear what’s coming.”

“Mmm,” Aramis hums, rolling to his other side so he can look at Porthos. “I’m intrigued."

Porthos rests one hand on Aramis’ waist, his thumb brushing lightly over Aramis’ lower ribs. “You had such a good time last night, didn’t you? Just getting to watch and soak it all in? And now I think it’s your turn to give back. You were using us to get off, and now we’re gonna use you."

It’s not, strictly speaking, true, and Aramis knows that. He knows that everyone enjoyed last night and that it wasn’t just him getting off, but he hears that they’re going to use him and he stops thinking coherently. They’re going to _use him_. “H-How?"

“Listen to you,” Porthos says. “Not even arguing, not even putting up a fight, just wanna know how.” He curls his fingers in tighter against Aramis’ skin and Aramis can feel the tiny bite of Porthos’ fingernails. “Your girl’s been thinking about this all day, I’m betting she wants to get fucked pretty bad right about now. So you’re gonna give that to her. You’re gonna make sure she’s nice and wet, make sure she’s good and ready, and then you’re gonna fuck her exactly like she tells you."

Aramis’ breath is coming hard and fast and he’s just watching Porthos’ mouth move. Fatima is dragging her fingernails over his back, he can feel her breath on his neck. Porthos takes Aramis by the chin, tilting his face up until Aramis is looking straight into his eyes. “And while you’re fucking her exactly like she wants? I’m gonna be behind you, fucking you exactly like I want."

Because of the way he’s holding Aramis’ face, Porthos is watching as his pupils blow wide. “Fuck. Porthos I…” Porthos can feel Aramis’ cock jerk against his leg as Aramis struggles for words.

“You can say no, you can suggest something else if you want. But I think what you really want is to say yes and be good for us.” With that he digs his fingers in again. Aramis feels the sting and his eyes roll back, a little whine escaping him. “You gonna be good?” Porthos asks.

“Yeah,” Aramis says. “Yes, please.” Porthos grins and it’s a smile Aramis hasn’t seen for longer than he cares to remember. It’s the smile Porthos gets when he’s about to take exactly what he wants from Aramis and Aramis is going to get to just shut down and enjoy it. That smile makes everything inside Aramis go hot and liquid.

“Good. So good for me,” Porthos says, kissing him. It’s not a heavy kiss, just a handshake at the end of a deal, and then Porthos pushes Aramis over onto his back. Aramis looks up to see Fatima smiling down at him.

“I’m not nearly wet enough, Porthos,” she says.

“You should make him fix that,” Porthos says.

Fatima runs her fingers up the back of Aramis’ head, dragging up through his hair and curling her fingers into it, clutching it. She pulls on it, using it to direct Aramis where she wants him, using it to put his eager face close enough to her cunt to see her pulse throb in her flesh.

His technique went out the window the second Porthos described the plan for the evening, but Aramis does his best to let his enthusiasm make up for it. He presses countless wet, sucking kisses to her, stroking his tongue over her clit and licking at the reaction that causes. She still has one hand fisted in his hair as she makes little, happy sighing sounds and rolls her hips up into his mouth. Her knees have fallen completely open and when Aramis glances up he can see that her other hand is gripping Porthos’ like a lifeline.

Porthos is kneeling next to Fatima, one hand in hers and the other pumping lube onto his fingers as he smiles at Aramis. He tries, Aramis really tries, but his knees go to jelly at that smile. Porthos is about to play him like a virtuoso plays his favorite instrument and fuck, Aramis _loves_ this. He can’t help it, it’s instinct to put an extra curve in his lower back, to open his knees just a little wider, to make the way open to Porthos. Aramis is rewarded by a throaty, pleased hum from Porthos and the feel of one of those thick, calloused fingers slicking over his hole.

They do this often enough that Porthos could probably dispense with all but the most cursory of preparation, but that’s not who he is. It’s been a few days, Aramis is tighter than he would be the morning after, and so Porthos takes his time. He brushes his knuckle over the muscles to feel them relax under the pressure. He can see the moment where Aramis’ hips relax even further, where the curve of his back becomes natural, not exaggerated and begging. Aramis is groaning his pleasure into Fatima’s pussy and she’s gripping Porthos’ hand tighter and her shoulders are coming off the bed as her breathing grows faster and her “Yes, yes,” becomes a near-meaningless litany.

Porthos starts with two fingers at first, knowing how Aramis loves that sudden pressure, that ache and reminder of how Porthos can still do this to him, can still reduce him to sobs even after all these years. He does sob, one pitiful wail into the skin of Fatima’s inner thigh before he says, “Thank you, thank you, Porthos."

His hand is at the wrong angle to hit Aramis’ prostate so Porthos concentrates instead on the pleasure he knows can come from the stretch of his fingers splaying wide on the way out, the texture of his knuckles sliding around just as they pass the rim and the tug of his fingertips at the edges of Aramis’ hole. He can see Aramis’ inner thighs start to tremble and knows that this sign, along with the noises Aramis is now making against Fatima’s clit, means it’s time to move on. Porthos looks at Fatima’s face and the first time she makes eye contact he raises one eyebrow. She understands immediately.

Aramis could happily do this all night so it’s a little bittersweet when she tears his face away. “Enough, come here,” she says. Her nails are scratching his scalp and Aramis tries not to purr and rub his head into her hand. Instead, he takes the proffered condom from Porthos and slicks it on as fast as he can.

The feeling of her, tight and hot around him, never gets old, never gets too familiar. He’s craving it now, but he goes slow, letting the head of his cock push at her entrance and drag across the nerves he knows are more concentrated there. He’s made her come just fucking the first two inches of her so he knows how important this first part is. She’s squirming under him, trying to get him further in at the same time she’s sighing at the push of him against her. He bends his head to drag the tip of his tongue over one of her nipples and watching how it makes her face go slack. “I love you,” he whispers into her ear.  
  
Getting from there to Porthos’ stated endgame is not graceful. It’s not pretty or choreographed. When he spreads Aramis’ ass wide and pushes his cock against that eager hole, Aramis pitches forward, unused to pressure from that angle during sex where he’s doing the fucking, and his elbow lands on Fatima’s hair.

Her hiss is not one of pleasure and in his attempt to back off of her Aramis kicks Porthos in the shin and nearly head-butts him in the nose. Porthos laughs and sits back on his heels, running his palms over Fatima’s calves. “There’s a reason porn always skips this part,” he says, smirking.

Dignity gone, Aramis grins at Porthos and laughs as he says, “Let me try that again.” He pushes into Fatima once more, still reveling in the heat of her around him, and brushes her hair up onto the pillow. “Now it’s out of range,” he says, grinning and kissing her nose.

Fatima is grinning back at him, her eyes wide and luminous in the low light, her skin warm against his. “Are you finished?” she asks. “You’re all good now and you’re not going to go into the headboard when he tries again?” Aramis shakes his head, his smile wide. “Good,” she says, and Aramis can feel a sudden clench of her cunt around him that startles a gasp out of him. “Now. Focus, Aramis. You have a job to do."

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “I’ll be good."

“Of course you will,” she says. “You know how nice it is when you’re good for us."

Aramis feels Porthos grip at his hip with one hand and positions the broad head of his cock with the other. He closes his eyes and breathes through the initial push. It’s so good, this. Even stretched, even warmed up, it might as well be the first time every time, Porthos is so thick inside him.

He tries, at first, to move back and forth between them, but Porthos is moving on his own and it’s only awkward. Aramis is worried he’s not going to get it right. It isn’t until he gives up, gives in really, and lets himself be moved forward by Porthos’ thrusts, pulled backward by his hand on Aramis’ hip, that it starts to feel perfect.

All Aramis has to do is keep himself braced on his elbows. Just keep himself from tipping forward onto Fatima again and try to keep his hips angled so it’s easy for Porthos. That angle, it turns out, is perfect for letting his pelvis put pressure against Fatima’s pubic bone, moving the flesh over where the base of her clit is hiding, making her sigh with pleasure.

“He’s figured out just how to hold himself so it’s good for both of us, hasn’t he?” Fatima asks.

“Got his ass pushed up for me, showing me just how much he wants it."

“He really is being so good for us."

“Can’t help himself, really. He’s just so perfect without even trying. Doesn’t even have to think about it, just holds himself so it’s good for all of us.” Aramis’ brain is starting to disconnect, letting him just float in the movement, letting Porthos fuck him into Fatima. All he has to do is stay here and do what they tell him. Neither of his lovers is prone to hiding their desires, if they want him to move, to do something, they’ll tell him.

Now that Aramis has put himself at the whim of these two, Porthos is able to speed up, to put more force behind his thrusts. It’s delicious, the push and drag of Porthos and the gorgeous heat of Fatima around him.

“Do you think,” Fatima says, “that he knows he’s making those noises? Do you think he even hears himself?"

“Probably not,” Porthos says. “Probably can’t hear that gorgeous little whine in his throat and how hungry for it he sounds. He’s so beautiful when he lets go like this for us, isn’t he?"

“Mmm,” Fatima hums and cards her fingers through Aramis’ hair. His pupils are blown wide and he’s not even seeing her until she touches him. He’s looking right into her eyes when she speaks again. “It’s this kind of thing that makes him so easy to love. It’s the way he lets us use him and trusts that we won’t leave him wanting. He would give anything for us, this is just another way of showing it. So perfect.”

The very act of letting go of control has emptied all the tension out of Aramis’ body, he could feel it draining out through his fingers. He’s filling back up now, their words in his ears and their smiles in his heart. All that fills him now is this overwhelming love he feels for these two people. Everything comes down to the two of them holding him like this, filling and touching and loving him. Letting him love them.

Porthos changes the angle of his thrusts just a little and Aramis can hear the next noise as it’s punched out of his own throat; it’s an utterly unselfconscious keening wail of pleasure.

“Very good,” Porthos says. “He’s trying so hard to be still and just go where I push him, but when I brush over that spot he can’t help it. Just arches his back up and opens himself even more for me. Begging for it with his ass like my perfect slut, isn’t he?"

“He wants so badly to be perfect for us,” Fatima says. “All we can do is try to show him how much he already is.”

Aramis can feel Porthos’ hand stroking over his lower back, the warm solid pressure grounding him in the midst of this storm of sensation. He smiles and relaxes under the sensation, feeling so close to them both. Ducking his head, Aramis takes one of Fatima’s nipples in his mouth and scrapes his teeth over it lightly, biting down and then sucking and licking at it.

When Porthos speaks again, his voice is gruff with emotion. “It’s been so long, and I still can’t believe how much I want him every time I look at him. Even when we’re fighting, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Still makes my heart skip a beat, still makes me itch to touch him.” That hand is stroking up Aramis’ back again. “Love him so much."

“Especially when he's this good for you?” Fatima asks.

“Oh yeah, especially then.” Aramis can hear the smile in Porthos’ voice and feel the change in the speed of his hips, it’s a quick, deep thrust now and the change in pressure against Aramis is making Fatima arch and moan.

“Fuck! Keep fucking him like that, Porthos. Keep fucking him just like that, you’re making him fuck me just right.” Her fingernails are digging into Aramis’ shoulders and he’s hissing against her breast.

Porthos smiles and looks at Fatima over Aramis’ shoulder. He’s got both arms bracing himself just over Aramis, doing his best to make the position work for her and not just for them. “Is this enough for you?” he asks.

Just then, Aramis’ cock hits a perfect spot in her and she bites down on her lower lip, her eyelids falling half shut. “ _Fuck_. Not quite, no, but I’m enjoying the hell out of it anyway."

“Good girl,” Porthos tells her. “Tell me when you’re ready and we’ll do something that works better for you. But not now, not while you’re still having fun.” And God, there’s that wicked smile Aramis always tells her about.

For a few more minutes she lays there, Aramis’ cock being pushed into her, dragging over her clit, and his skin rubbing over her nipples. There’s barely a breath between their bodies. Aramis feels like he’s open everywhere, to Fatima’s eyes, to Porthos’ cock, to the love that’s dripping from the very air in this room.

Fatima brushes her thumbs over his eyebrows and looks into his eyes. “So good,” she says. “So perfect.”

Before long she’s arching against Aramis again and muttering, “Faster. Please, faster.” Porthos complies immediately, his hips slapping against Aramis’ ass. Aramis has lost track of where the sensation is coming from, he’s a being of feeling and touch now. Her nails dig into the meat of his ass as she says, “Now, need to change now.”

Porthos pulls himself free from Aramis and kisses the small of his back to soothe the small, sad sound Aramis makes at the sudden emptiness. “Where do you want him, gorgeous?” Porthos asks.

“On his back,” Fatima says. “I want to ride that beautiful cock.” Aramis nearly whimpers.

Aramis rolls onto his back, scrambling into a good position on the bed. Fatima straddles his hips, sinking herself back down with one long movement. She groans at the fullness, he’s entirely in her now and her clit is pushing against the base of his cock and it’s fucking perfect.

Porthos is kneeling behind her as she rolls her hips against Aramis, rocking her pussy over him. Aramis can feel the slick drag and push of him in and out. He's watching as Porthos brushes Fatima’s hair aside, pressing first light and then harder kisses against the tendons running down the sides of her neck. She moans and rolls her head to the side, exposing the full length of the curve to Porthos mouth, his teeth. He isn’t shy about biting down, making it hurt a little for her. His hands slide around her belly, down to work at her clit with one hand and up to tug and pull at the metal through her nipple with the other.

Fatima’s movements are losing their rhythm, her hips are jerking erratically and her face is twisted in pleasure.

“He still being good for you?” Porthos asks her. “Like this he’s almost just the perfect toy, isn’t he? But too warm for that, too real, and with that fucking amazing look in his eyes. See how much he loves you? How much he loves watching you like this? He’s gonna be whatever you need to come.”

She pulls Porthos’ hand free of her clit so she can change the angle, so she can push it against Aramis’ pelvis, working her hips in quick, tight circles. “I’m gonna be whatever you need, too. Tell us what you want,” Porthos says, both fingers plucking her nipples, twisting the barbells and scratching his blunt, short nails over the sensitive skin at the sides of her breasts.

“That,” she says, and it’s almost a sob. “Just like that. Please don’t stop."

“Never. Not until you tell us,” Porthos says, dragging his teeth over the skin below her ear.  
“We won’t stop. And Aramis won’t come until I tell him to."

Aramis can feel the throb of his cock in every limb, can feel the orgasm that wants to wash over him as it pools in his fingers and toes. Sweat is dripping off his forehead, rolling down his temples and into his hair. He’s soaking the pillow as he tries to be good for her, to not come before she does, but the clench and pull of her cunt over him is making it so fucking hard.

“Just like that,” she says again. “Like that, like that.” The words are repeated over and over, too quiet for Porthos and Aramis to hear as she jerks between them. She digs her nails into Aramis’ ribs and he shouts and arches under her. The little extra push of him into her gives her what she needs. Fatima’s release is nearly silent, Aramis has never seen her come like this. She claps her hands over Porthos’, holding them still while she curls into herself, her orgasm wracking her body. When she’s nearly finished, when it’s nearly through with her, she whispers a quiet, “ _Fuck,_ ” before falling forward, collapsing against Aramis’ chest.

He wants to come. If it were just him and Fatima here he would take her hips in his hands and fuck himself into her until he comes so hard he sees stars, but Porthos said not to. Porthos said Aramis wouldn’t come until Porthos said he could and God, Aramis wants to be perfect for him. So he bites down on the inside of his lip until he tastes blood and lets the tiny pain distract him from the overwhelming pleasure of her body contracting around him in the last of her orgasm.

Fatima huffs a breath into his neck, kisses Aramis’ jaw and lifts her head to smile at him. “You are perfect,” she says and rolls off of him, flopping onto her back with her arms over her head in an exhausted, fucked-out sprawl. Aramis rolls over onto his side so he can kiss her cheek.

“I love you,” he says and somehow that covers everything else he wants to say. While he’s resting in that position, pulling the condom off and dropping it into the bin beside the bed, he feels Porthos stretch out behind him, snugging up against his body from shoulder to toes. He hums at the sensation of Porthos’ skin against his own and looks back over his shoulder. “And I love _you_ ,” Aramis says.

Porthos kisses him, smiling, and pushes his hips so that one leg is moved forward, giving him just the room he needs to slide himself up and into Aramis again. One of Porthos’ hands comes up Aramis’ chest to hook over his shoulder so he has the leverage to fuck himself, deep and slow, into Aramis’ ass.

“Perfect for me,” Porthos says. “Perfect mouth, perfect greedy hole, fucking perfect,” he meets Fatima’s eyes as he continues, his breathing rough and his voice tight with pleasure and emotion. “When we first met we were both scared and skinny, but even then, even with those fucking ears, he was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.” Porthos never stops fucking him, not even as he talks. “Still think that. Still think it every time I kiss him, every time I fuck him, every morning I wake up next to him.” He kisses Aramis’ shoulder and moves his hand down to circle Aramis’ cock and stroke it in time with his own thrusts.

Fatima looks at Aramis’ face, at his glazed, distant eyes and his open mouth and knows that he does not see anything, but he can hear them. “He’s so beautiful when you fuck him,” she says. “His face is so open, totally lost to how good it is, how good he is.” She strokes his face and watches as Aramis' eyes snap into focus and he meets her eyes. “Is it good, my love?” she asks.

“So good,” Aramis breathes. “His cock is always so good, so big inside me. Never get used to how big he is.” He reaches one hand up and over his shoulder to wrap around the back of Porthos’ neck. “Love him so much. Love when he fucks me.”

Porthos chooses this moment to snap his hips up and into Aramis, hard and fast this time. It’s a punishing rhythm, he can’t keep it up long, but then again he doesn’t have to. Only a few seconds after Porthos starts the fierce, driving fuck of his cock into Aramis’ sore and tender hole, Aramis cries out, clutching at Porthos' neck and looking straight at Fatima. “Please. Porthos, please, I have to come."

“Go ahead, gorgeous. Wanna feel you when you do.” His hand speeds up now, too and Aramis is just _lost_. His orgasm slams into him at the base of his neck and radiates out through him, his fact twists and he cries out with the feeling of it. Porthos doesn’t stop. Not his hand, now covered in Aramis’ release, nor his cock, still stroking into Aramis’ clenching ass. “So good,” he whispers into Aramis’ ear. “So perfect. Love you so much."

“Love you,” Aramis says, his fingernails digging into Porthos’ neck.

Porthos hisses at the bite of those nails, jerking his hips and feeling the evening catch up with him all at once. “Fuck,” he yells. “Fuck!” and then he’s coming, filling Aramis’ ass and biting his screams into the meat of Aramis’ shoulder.

Aramis is still whispering, “Love you, love you so much,” as Porthos’ climax subsides and he can make out sounds again.

Turning his head so he can see Porthos over his shoulder, Aramis looks up at him, kissing him almost too soft and sweet for everything that just happened.

“Love you, too,” Porthos says.

Fatima gets the washcloths this time, Porthos and Aramis are not yet ready to pull apart. She cleans Porthos’ hand so that Aramis can bring it to his mouth, kissing Porthos’ palm, his knuckles, the inside of his wrist. She wipes Aramis’ belly clean and wipes the sweat from his forehead. When Porthos finally pulls out, groaning at the sensation, Aramis’ face looks terribly lost. He can’t help the sad, little humming noise he makes.

Porthos dips his fingers back into Aramis’ ass. “I know babe, don’t like to be empty after that do you? Feels a little lonely. I’m right here, your girl is right here, we love you so much.” Fatima leans forward and kisses Aramis over his entire face while Porthos slips his fingers in and out, playing with Aramis’ sloppy hole until he feels it starting to tighten around him again. Aramis still sighs when Porthos’ fingers slide out, but it’s wistful, not sad. Porthos takes the washcloth Fatima offers and cleans Aramis, careful to use a light touch where Aramis is tender and a little swollen.

Aramis stretches and smiles at the feeling, knowing how deliciously sore he’s going to be the next day. He loves that, loves feeling twinges of Porthos as he walks, finding little bruises from Porthos’ fingers on his hips and bite marks on his shoulders. Finding a map of Porthos’ love the next day takes Aramis right back to the moment.

Porthos swabs himself clean, using the last unsullied side of the washcloth to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck, and tosses it across the room and watching it land in the clothes hamper. He grins at Fatima.

“Yes,” she says, dry as dust. “You’re quite exceptional.”

Aramis’ laugh is bright and happy, he’s a puddle of bliss in the center of the bed. “Take care of him,” Porthos tells Fatima. “I’m going to go get some water.” While Porthos is gone, she runs her hands over Aramis’ arms, his back, his face. She cards her fingers through his hair and kisses his mouth.

“Thanks for that,” she says. “You were perfect.” Aramis preens under the praise and Fatima can’t help but chuckle. “You’re a shameless hussy, my love,” she says, kissing him again.

Porthos comes back with three water glasses trapped in a web of his fingers and a bowl of leftover strawberries from lunch balanced on top. They strip the sweat-soaked top sheet and pull the duvet from the floor before settling back into the middle of the bed.

Fatima pulls the stems off the strawberries, digs the cores out with her thumbnail and feeds them to Aramis. He smiles at each offering, kissing her thumb. Porthos drapes himself over Aramis’ back, reaching into the bowl for some strawberries and polishing off his water. “Love you,” he says, to no one in particular.

“Love you,” Aramis says.

“Mm, yes, definitely love you,” Fatima adds. She sucks the leftover strawberry juice from both of their fingers and puts the empty bowl on the floor before drawing the duvet up over the three of them. She kisses Porthos where he’s still draped over Aramis’ back, then kisses Aramis’ happy smile before switching off the light. Aramis’ tosses one leg over one of hers; he finds her hand in the dark, kissing her knuckles and curling her hand into his under his chin. He can feel Porthos sigh into the hair at the nape of his neck as he circles Aramis’ chest with his arm, and that’s the last thing Aramis knows before morning.

  
The conference takes most of Fatima’s time for the next four days, they see her for coffee in the morning and then dinner at night if they’re all there, but the next time they have enough leisure to talk is the night before she leaves. Porthos makes an enormous bowl of pasta, leaving the salad to Fatima and the wine to Aramis.

It’s a quiet evening, full of stories and love. Aramis is sitting in the corner of the sofa, Fatima between his legs with her back against his chest. He’s kissing her head while Porthos tells stories and twining his fingers into hers. He’s going to miss her terribly, but he knows that Pawel is waiting on the other end of this trip. The idea of his girl having someone there who will cherish her the way she deserves takes so much weight from Aramis’ heart.

Porthos is talking about having dinners with Aramis’ folks while he was in seminary, how his mother used to stuff Porthos and then send him home with all of the leftovers. Aramis is laughing and kissing Fatima’s fingertips.

“Now, tell me about his ears,” Fatima says.

Aramis nips at the pad of one finger. “My ears were _fine_.”

“One second,” Porthos says before walking into the bedroom.

“You must promise me you’ll still love me after you see this,” Aramis says.

Porthos comes back into the room, a photograph in his outstretched hand, as Fatima says, “Oh honey, how bad could it possib— Goodness… those are some ears.”

Aramis groans and buries his face in her hair. Porthos hands her the rest of the stack, all pictures Carolina had given them when they moved into this flat. She flips through them, laughing and making little helpless _awww_ noises. She has questions about them, wants to know all the stories, marvels at how young they both looked. “You can see how handsome you’ll both be when you grow up, though, such good looking boys.”

She spends her last night there wrapped in Aramis’ arms in the guest bed. Porthos joins them after their, “God I’ll miss you so much!” sex is over, curling up behind Fatima so she can feel the love from both of them surrounding her as she sleeps.

The next morning, she and Aramis are getting ready to go to the airport while Porthos putters in the kitchen, making coffee and humming to himself. He’s shirtless, his pajama pants hanging low off his hips and his big feet bare against the kitchen floor. Fatima smiles, propping her elbows on the worktop and giving him a low wolf whistle. “Those pajamas are a good look for you, Porthos.” He winks at her and pushes a cup of coffee across the counter to her. “Are you going to get ready to go?” she asks.

At his confused face, she says, “To the airport?”

Porthos’ smile is soft and fond. “I thought you might like that moment alone with Aramis.”

She stretches a hand across the counter to grip his. “Come with us,” she says. “I’d like all the time I can get with you both.” Porthos loves this. Treasures this closeness with her that’s absolutely love but not at all the same love she has with Aramis. He finds her unbearably sexy, bright and funny, and he cherishes her as a friend, but he is absolutely not in love with her just as she is not in love with him, not even after this last week. This is their relationship as it should be. He squeezes her hand and goes to put some clothes on.

They get to the airport earlier than they need to and have breakfast at a tiny café just outside the security checkpoint. It’s easy, it’s so fucking easy, the three of them together.  
Porthos regales them with the details of what happened during Aramis’ physical evaluation and firearms qualification for TS, things even Aramis hadn’t heard before.

It feels like only a few minutes have passed, but when Fatima checks her watch again she frowns. “Time to go,” she says.

Porthos hugs her first, pressing fierce, hard kisses into her hair and soft ones onto her lips. “Love you,” he says.

She wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him before pressing a kiss of her own to the side of his neck. “Love you, too.”

The kiss she shares with Aramis goes on long enough to scandalize a few passers by and have the ticket agent at the Air France counter sighing wistfully. He’s cradling her head in his hands like she’s a priceless treasure, his mouth is dragging over hers while his thumbs brush at the hinge of her jaw. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, her fingers curled into fists. When they break the kiss, Aramis rests his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes and drags his nose over the length of hers, kissing her softly.

“I love you so much; call me when you land?”

“I will,” she says. “I love you.”

She turns to go and Aramis catches her hand, brushing a kiss over her knuckles and looking at her from under his lashes. Fatima’s laugh rings out, loud and happy. “You incorrigible flirt, let me go.”

With one last grin, he does.

At home that night Aramis and Porthos stand side by side and look out over the view from the living room window. “Now we have a new memory for the park,” Aramis says.

“Does it feel like it’s not our park anymore, now that we’ve got a memory with her there?” Porthos asks and his voice is only curious, not jealous or insecure.

“No,” Aramis says. “Now it is our park that we have shown her.” Porthos turns and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You are the constant,” Aramis says, and it’s true. Everything else, everyone else, is just threads that weave in and out, over and around their love for each other. Porthos rests his forehead against Aramis’ temple, closing his eyes and smiling as Aramis says, “You’re the love of my life, fifteen years ago, today, always.”

“Always,” Porthos says, turning Aramis’ face to kiss him.


End file.
